Chance of Hail – (c) Charn 2013

“In more pressing news, there is a dangerous weather warning for the greater metropolitan area, including Munsing, Balmton, and Crystal View. Listeners are encouraged to close shutters and tie down any loose lawn furniture, as there may be wind gusts up to sixty miles per hour. The warning will be in effect until-” *Clik*

Grozz could care less about a bit of rain and hail, as long as it helped clear the humidity out of the air. He undid his hard, plastic helmet, the plastic bands having long ago worn two ‘straps’ of naked skin underneath his spikey brown hair. 

“You done for the day?” asked Labby, the golden retriever shimmying down one of the metal trusses from the next floor up.

“Yeah, that’s it for the day. No sense in getting our pubes toasted if the framework gets struck.”

The dog, younger and bouncier and leaner-gutted, chortled and stuffed his thumbs into his tool belt, pushing it down. His tongue lolling as he panted in the excruciating summer heat, and his smart ass grin told Grozz that the dog knew the big grizzly foreman had taken a glance at his package, when he had pushed it down just so. “Damn, boss, I gotta admit I’m surprised atcha, you’d never cancel work on account of a bit of wetness!”

The other men were cleaning up for the day, packing up and tying down the wooden pallets, and Grozz shrugged amiably, turning away from the flaunting pup before his own thick carharts got any tighter. The thick canvas was already saunaing his junk, steaming it like two poached eggs in the blistering mid-afternoon scorcer. 

“Call it an early reprieve. Now getcher ass back to your bitch and tickle her ovaries for me. Oh, and tell her you’re keeping her warm for me, and I appreciate that.”

Labby chortled, and Grozz headed back towards the Chief’s trailer, checking in with the fat, grizzled possum who frowned at the suggestion of the early day off. 
“You know we’re making good headway, Fram, so come on, relax, let the boys have an afternoon off to blow off some steam, it’ll make them faster on their feet tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine.” The good thing about the heat was that it was universal - even with the air conditioner cranked on high, the possum looked miserable in the cramped metal shack. “But bright and early tomorrow! No excuses!”

“Of course. Have a good one, Fram.” Grozz waited for the door to clack shut behind the possum, before he opened up his mailbox and took out his phone. Undoing his toolbelt, he swung his claw carefully along the screen, one set of icons after another swinging by, until he got to the last screen. Just one icon there, a red hockey mask. He clicked it, putting his phone to the side as he undid his boots, undoing the laces before slipping his size sixteen double wides out of the worn, stained, sturdy leather shit-kickers. Oh, was that not mentioned? That the grizzle bear that was now stinking up the manager’s trailer was almost seven feet tall, and easily three hundred pounds of bone, fat, and muscle?

Well, it’s true. And the bear was riled up. He splayed his toes, before stuffing them into sneakers, undoing his vest. All of his work gear stuffed in a backpack before he grabs the phone again, glancing at the screen.

There were ten new requests, ten local guys who were aching to jump his bones. They all wanted him, wanted his big frame leaning over and plowing deep into their piggy asses. Too bad. Grozz didn’t have the time or the patience to wine and dine and build up a sweet and sappy relationship. Grozz’s nuts were so heavy and loose that he imagined they could split through the bottom of his sac. He fingered through the offers, blocking the older fellos outright, and then blocking the younger ones. He wanted a man, not a son, not a grampa. 

There were two options by the time he got to the gate of the construction yard, and the giraffe looked to be a bit too... delicate. The last thing Grozz wanted was a hookup-turned-hissy fit. The sky darkened as he opened the last contact, backpack weighing heavily on his back.  

It was a tiger. Hmmm.

He’d not been with a tiger since that threesome with the two cat husbands. They were rather sparce in this part of the country - probably due to that thick striped pelt.

He opened up the profile, peering through the details as he walked down the street towards the parking lot. About his age, decently fit but thick enough to have a nice bit of padding. A confident grin, relaxed eyes. Profile said he was a Vers, with an oral preference. Oral, hmm? The bear’s nuts curdled with frustration. A nice, sloppy blowjob might be Just the ticket. No fuss, no muss.

“u swallo” he sent back to the tiger. His car was up ahead, so he imagined he could be wherever the tiger was in just a couple of minutes, if the location was correct.

“Look 2 ur left” came the response, and Grozz did so. There was a bistro and a nail salon across the street, which had emptied out with the promise of heavy rain. Except for the tiger, shirtless and leaning against the corner of the bistro. The guy was hot, hotter than his pictures let on, and Grozz felt another curdling in his loins. 

Fuck, why not?

The grizzly bear trotted across the street, grinning to the tiger, who watched him approach, calm and relaxed.

Grozz grinned widely as he got close enough to smell the tiger’s furry sweat, salted butter popcorn in the thick still air. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he accused, eyeing up the tiger’s bulge with a lewd licking of his lips. “You gonna swallow?”

The tiger only grinned, turning right and down the alleyway. “Come back here and find out.”

Right in the middle of the day? Grozz glanced around - there was a car at a red light up the street, but other than the dark clouds overhead, the street was still. Sure, fine. What was the worst that could happen?

Other than the stink of nail polish remover and stale coffee grounds, the alley was clean, and Grozz had no problem undoing his pants. The tiger was watching, whiskers twitching, as the bear yanked his pants open, zipper growling angry as it was yanked open. He reached for the tiger’s own black slacks, but the feline side stepped, smirking and then pressing in between thos grasping hands. 

“No. This needs no reciprocation.” The tiger said, a hand sliding into that open fly. The bear was wearing a worn old jock, one of those white cotton ones that stretch over time until you they’re more of a mesh than underwear. “All you have to do is let me get you off.”

“Sounds like my kind of deal,” The bear growled, leaning back against the wall. Truth be told, this was Exactly what he needed, a no-muss, no-fuss encounter with a hot guy willing to help him purge his cream. “Haven’t had the chance to shower,” he added, smirking as the tiger’s nose flehmened in response.

“Yeah. Good stuff. Masculine.” The tiger knelt, pulling Grozz’s jeans down as he did, that bulging jock jutting out, ripe and heady and heavy. He pressed his cheek against it, grinding his tuft along that salty, yellow-stained bit of underwear, and the bulk of meat that swelled inside it. The bear’s musk was sharper than the tiger’s - where his was like scorched popcorn, the bear’s was a harsh bleu cheese, cloying and almost greasy, pushing away in a growing nimbus of masculinity. The tiger seemed to be digging on it, grinding against his salty crotch as fingers reached up to grasp the waistband of the bear’s jock. 

He pulled it down, the bear flexing his hips slightly, rollign them forward - just enough to push his shaft up from the grip of the cotton jock, lolling and flopping, a thick and sheathless log of dark, ridged flesh. He had had the sheath trimmed back, in the spring, gotten that sour scrap of flesh peeled off so that his cock would always be bared, always ready to go. The same amount of sour crusted piss and smeg still stuck to the fat slab of bearmeat, though, the tiger nosing and giving little kisses at it as he took in the bear’s near-rancid scent. 

His fingers pulled down further, on his jock, though, even as he gave soft little licks at the edges of Grozz’s shaft. Pullign his jock down until his balls ached, their thick, swollen cords complaining at having to heft their weight. Oh yes, the bear was big, big for his size and big for his species. The twin stones that dangled under his cock practically steamed, each egg a good inche away from the other, dangling in that thin-skinned scrotum that the bear groomed meticulously each morning. Dark black flesh sprouting, hanging from beneath his cock, a smooth, swooping neck of three or four inches before it bulged out obscenely around Grozz’s twin eggs. Even in the dim light of the alley way, they shined that sticky glossy shine of sticky, tacky flesh, even with the imprint of the mesh cotton jock still imbedded in the soft pudgy flehs.
The tiger’s fingers cupped them, smoothing out the imprint of his underwear, stroking down the smooth flesh, caressing and feeling.

At the bottom of the bear’s pouch, there was a single mar. A tuft, a patch of brown hair, a pointed ‘goatee’ that jutted down a quarter inch or so. The tiger’s fingers found it, twisting the fur between them and pulling down. 

The bear’s dick tightened up with the action, and he lazily grasped the tiger’s head, big fingers twining around the feline’s right ear. He pulled him closer, rocking his hips forward and sheathing the end of his cock into the tiger’s muzzle.

“Therrrrrrrre we go...” There was no resistance, none of that phony ‘oh it’s too big’ begging shit that the bear always got. Just mouth. Tongue rasping, lips gripping, gullet gripping and pulling. Fuck yeah.

The tiger’s fingers caressed, one hand still stroking and pulling on the bear’s balltuft, the other stroking along the overheated flesh, the twin puffy fists that dangled and weighed and taunted with their virile prowess. The tiger’s head bobbed, his fingers teased, and for a minute or two the two males made no noise except the occasional grunt or slurp.

A flash of lightning, then, and a sudden rain, water washing down into the crack between the two buildings. It splattered and soaked through the bear’s clothes and fur, but the tiger, if the cold rain bothered him, made no affect of such.

“Yeah, like that, a cocksucker who knows what he wants.” The bear retightened his grip on the tiger’s head, pulling against his cock, jerking his fat, hard slab of beardick off against the feline’s mouth. 

Now, of course, the pattering of rain was good, as it kept people in their businesses and houses and cars for a few minutes, a few minutes that Grozz was going ot need to get off without getting caught. The pattering of rain was also bad, however, as the banging of rain against pavement and boxes and dumpsters hid the sound of a straight razor being pulled from a tiger’s boot, the blade flicked open and scraped against the ground.

The bear’s intoxicating musk was thick enough to cut with a knife, and this was Just the knife to cut the musk out of the bear’s system. Four inches of gleaming, bevelled steel was lifted, a single drop of rain running from near the tip, down the silver length. Fingers that tugged and rubbed at those balls’ little patch pulled taut, stretching the skin tightly around those eggs, and as the tiger bobbed and nursed and slurped noisily up above, that blade was brought to bear. Touching against skin, held carefully taut, the freshly sharpened blade pulled sharply towards the tiger... 

The small patch of brown fur came loose, cleaved by a master barber’s blade, and was dropped into the growing puddles on the ground. Grozz grunted at the sensation of his scrotum relaxing, the tautness disappearing, before fingers wrapped around the bulk of his left nut.

Grozz heard the tiger grunt, smirking just like Labby at the sound of surprise as the tiger realized his fingers wouldn’t wrap entirely around One of the bear’s big black nuts. It had to slide further up, feeling, testing through the soft flesh until finally it snared Grozz’s pouch, his palm pushing down against the twin eggs as fingers gripped at the narrow neck of his sack.

“Fuuuuck....” it was a universal sign of appreciation, the bear feeling his loins tighten as his cords were dragged taut. He had no clue his tuft had been shorn off, baring his proud black sack entirely, and he had no clue that that same blade was coming back for seconds. It lifted, the blade peeking around either side of his snugly-held testes, carefully lifting until the very tip was just barely, barly tickling at the seam where black flesh stopped and brown fur began again. 

The tiger pulled off of the bear’s length, then, the hard flesh jutting up and slapping against the bear’s attention. It was urgent, slapping as if to get the bear’s attention, and he looked down at it, smirking as it twitched and pulsed. The cap, a broad, pink mushroom that didn’t match the rest of the brown log, flared expectantly, his precum seeping out of it. The tiger pressed it in close against his belly, grinding his cheek against that solid flesh. 

The tiger also nudged the blade forward, against that flesh, and the bear’s weighted scrotum split like the flesh of a tomato that had gathered too much rain, the flesh parting from the tickling kiss of the blade. Grozz didn’t notice it - couldn’t notice it, his brain a firey mass of hormones and lust. The blade edged forward, and his cock twitched as it did, flaring out wider.

“Come on, kitty, I’m blueballed enough, don’t need to tease me..”

“Oh, I know,” the tiger purred, as he ground and licked up it’s length, fingers still holding his balls as that tickle slid carefully along the back of his pouch. The tiger could feel the weight of those balls, getting denser, heavier, aching and waiting to fall free into his clutches, but the bear couldn’t - how could he - with his cock aching so hard, so eager and ready to climax. “I just wanna make sure to get all of it.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to be an issue. Here, kitty kitty kitty, get your Cream!”

The bear grabbed his erection, feeling it throb, strangely hard, strangely manic, twitching in his grasp as if it were being electrocuted. Around them, the rain pelted down harder, the pouring water steaming on the pavement. He pulled the tiger’s muzzle closer, “Just a little fucking bit more, don’t fuckin’ tease me!”

The tiger mumbled a response, that thick shaft gouging rock hard against his gullet. Fingers twitched, slicing a bit more, feeling the balls hang a litle big lower. A little bit more. Itching, tickling, digging and scraping, just the tip of that knife doing all the dirty work. Grozz ‘s hips began to twitch, as if to pull back, his loins a mass of confused sexual tension that demanded Something Happen Now!

“FUCK, COME ON!!”” The bear growled, and the tiger bobbed, just once. Just one, slow, easy swoop, sinking down the length of his fat dick before peeling back off, gleaming dark flesh bared as the feline suckled on just the head.

HE was going to cum, finally, he felt his groin lift, his groin tightening, pulling up against his balls - wait

His tongue lolling, he looked down in confusion, as the tiger’s grinning fangs bit into his big, bulging mushroom cap, sinking into swollen, seeping hard flesh. It made a terrible crunching sound, the shock of it more than the pain as the tiger ripped his head back, half-decapitatin his proud cock. 

The bear slumped against the wall, his cock still twitching, still flagging as if to warn him, of course it had been trying to warn him, to alert him of this crazy bitch who had just bit off his cock, and-

The tiger was standing, grinning his dark red grin, not chewing or swallowing just grinning. HE was holding something - a knife - was he going to kill Grozz? The bear struggled back up, the world spinning as the tiger held up something else.

It was a bag. A lunch bag? No darker, something big though, like a leather sack, a black shiny pouch that had rain drooling and pooling from the bottom.

It was someone’s balls... for a second, for a second he thought it was his, but his had that little patch on the underside, there was no way - but that smell -

The tiger leaned forward, pinning Grozz against the wall and with a savage grinding he smeared those heavy, stolen balls against the bear’s own muzzle, the ripe, cheesy musk sticking against his nose, smeared against his lips. They tasted like his piss, his nut, his salt, his sweat. They were His, after all.

The bear weakly sputtered - from mouth and cock - as the tiger turned away, big sagging pouch hanging limp from his fingers, and walked out of the alleyway.

“W-w.... Wait! Wait give them back!”

And lightning struck overhead, the rain coming down harder.